


Dark Domestics

by wrigglesworth59



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Dark, Domestic Violence, F/M, Insanity, POV Alternating, possibly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-08 05:05:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1927692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrigglesworth59/pseuds/wrigglesworth59
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically what it says on the tin</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dark Domestics

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for domestic violence

Cracking his heavy eyes open, he let out a soft groan, mind slowly becoming aware of a raging headache... hangover?

He let his awareness slowly take in his physical being, asides from the headache he became aware of the familiar ache in his arms, the burning in his lungs and the pain around his wrists. He shouldn’t be surprised really, how many times had he awoken to find himself chained to a hook in the ceiling, head throbbing, thought’s so scattered that he has no recollections of what’s going on around him? No idea what it is he has supposedly done this time and why she still insists on treating him in such a way.

Though maybe the more appropriate question is why he continues to allow her to treat him this way, he’s not stupid he knows what this is, what’s happening and yet he cannot bring himself to leave, to walk away. He loves her, truly and if it means that on occasion (more often than he even likes admitting to himself) that he must put up with the abuse he suffers at her hands then so be it, because he loves her and he wants to be here for her, hopes that one day it will be enough.

He’s aware of prickles of pain across his torso, doesn’t need to look to know what it is, can feel dried blood cracking and flaking, cut’s barely healed re-opening when he tries to move hoping to ease the burden on his arms. Breaths coming in slightly laboured due to the position he has been stuck in for who knows how long, ribs and lungs unable to expand properly. He can only hope that she will return soon to release him, knows that when she does it will be her who requires comfort more than he, comfort he is more than happy to provide because he loves her, and she him.

XXXXX

She opens her eyes slowly, pale dawn light creeping through the cracks in the blinds. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes she peers about the room automatically registering that she is not at home, that she is once again in her brother’s guest bedroom. Tears rise unbidden behind her lids and she bites on her bottom lip in the hopes of suppressing them. She knows what this means, understands what she has done each time she wakes here. She also knows that once again she will return home seeking forgiveness and comfort from the person she least deserves it from, she wishes she could stop, that things were different and she is unsure where these black-hole rages come from.

She can’t really remember when it first started, doesn’t think there was any one thing that caused it, all she remembers of that first time is waking here in Arthur’s guest room confused and disoriented, the breakfast she had shared with him had shed little light on the true horrors for all Arthur knew was that she had turned up in the night, crying, following an argument with Merlin. It was only once she had returned home to find him chained to the hook in the bedroom ceiling, blood dripping down his torso, that she had realized just what she had done (and even then not really because she didn’t remember what the argument had even been about.)

She’s terrified of the day when he will leave her, he promises he never will (she secretly hopes he does, but prays that he will not), but she knows that she does not deserve him or his love and really how could he still love her, how many times did this make it?

She has always known that she has a temper, it comes from being a Pendragon that it must be genetic because both her father and brother have terrible tempers too, though they are nowhere near as bad as she is, they tend to yell aggressively a lot but they are mostly all bark and no bite where as her rages... well.

She needs to get home, needs to find out if Merlin is alright, he has to be ok (please god let him be alright), and knows that there is a very real possibility of her one day returning home to find that he is anything but. She prays that day will never come.

XXXXX

He was still laughing over his pint as he looked up, eyes instantly locking onto hers, he gulped involuntarily at the anger burning in her gaze, knew that this was bad. He wasn’t even doing anything, he had told her he was meeting up with some old college friends and had invited her along, but he should have known better, should have known that her possessive and paranoid personality would take an instant dislike to him drinking with other women. It did not matter that there were not only women seated with him all she would see is him talking (flirting, he wasn’t but knew better than to think she would listen) and enjoying himself in the company of other women and knew that they had to leave now, that it may be the only way to prevent something worse than the usual.

The whole way home had been spent in tense silence, she would never let the facade slip, never let others see what was going on behind the scenes (even in the darkest of tempers she had always avoided doing any damage where some-one may see).

Once they reached the privacy of their home though it was a completely different matter, it started in the usual way: with yelling. Next came throwing things, after that she had pulled out a kitchen knife, brandishing it at him eyes crazed. He had grabbed her wrist, tried to reason with her, pleaded with her and eventually let the fight drain out of him when he felt the blade pierce his side.

That was... new. He was used to the shallow slices that she liked to decorate his back and chest with, never had she stabbed him before, though thinking about it he supposed he had never really tried to stop her before being unwilling to risk hurting her. His mind a pain filled haze he’s aware dimly of the heavy cuffs closing around his wrists and cries out in pain as his arms are wrenched above his head, the movement pulling on the gaping wound in his side.

He can feel a continual dripping of blood.

He is slowly loosing himself to the pain, to the darkness that is creeping into his mind, can see her figure swimming, blurring, in front of him. Thinks she is still yelling and is probably not done with him, the rage has yet to leave her eyes. He thinks it would be better to give into the darkness pulling at him, so that he is unaware of what else she may do, so that whatever it is she does next he will be unable to feel it.

He knows that giving into the darkness would be unwise, that this time it would not bring any relief that this time he may not wake up.

XXXXX

He uses his spare key that she gave him, he has finally had enough. It was clear to him last night when she turned up, yet again, in tears on his doorstep that he needed to put an end to this. He had never gotten involved before believing that their arguments were trivial, Morgana had always been a bit of a drama queen and Arthur had secretly thought Merlin a brave man to take her on.

Last night though he could not help but notice the finger print bruises encircling her wrist, he had bit back the rage, letting it simmer beneath the surface, until he had got her calm and settled. He had left her sleeping peacefully in the spare room, before leaving his flat to go and confront Merlin.

Their home is quiet, which doesn’t surprise him, it is likely once Morgana had left that Merlin had gone to bed, so he heads quietly towards the bedroom pushing the door open slowly before peeking in.

What he sees at first does not register in his mind at all, in fact his mind goes completely blank and he is not sure how long he stands there staring horror-struck at the sight before him. Merlin is hanging limply from chains attached to the ceiling he is covered in blood, so much blood it is pooling around his feet. His naturally pale skin a sickly white, so far from natural, and he knows his pallor is due to blood loss (there is so much blood that he can’t even tell where it is all coming from) so much blood that it’s likely Merlin is...

He moves quickly, hand reaching out to find a pulse (please god let there be a pulse) fingers sliding a little in the blood that seems to have dripped down his neck from somewhere under his hair. He waits a moment holding his breath...

...Nothing...

...Still nothing...

He fumbles for his phone, calling for an ambulance and trying incoherently to explain what is wrong.

There is no need for an ambulance instead they send the police, forensics and a plain silver mortuary van to take away the body when the police are done.

The night passes in a blur, he is in shock shaking, mind numb, unable to grasp the reality that his sister... Christ! His sister is a murderer!

XXXXX

Her mind truly slipped away from her the night that he died, she doesn’t remember it, doesn’t remember taking his life. She doesn’t remember her arrest or trial or anything other than being told that he was dead and that she had killed him.

Since then she had retreated into herself, into her mind. It was the only place where he still existed, where she could still see his wide smiles and hear his declarations of eternal love. She knows that were she ever presented the opportunity she would join him in a heart-beat because though others would never understand he had been her whole world and she had loved him with all she had. Even if all she had was anger, jealousy and paranoia. One day, if she ever got out of here, this place that offered no means of finding peace, then she would join him.


End file.
